


Land and Sky

by AbominableKiwi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Black Eagles route, Canon Typical Violence, Ensemble Cast, F/F, No Beta, Retelling of that one paralogue, hey look spontaneous canon divergence!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbominableKiwi/pseuds/AbominableKiwi
Summary: For the first time in years, Petra comes home. She only wished it was under better circumstances.  Between dealing with the Church of Seiros and nerves over Dorothea finally meeting her family, things could only get more complicated from here.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Land and Sky

**Author's Note:**

> It's currently 4:30 AM and I'm sick. For all intents and purposes, I shouldn't be awake right now, but hey why not finish this one fic that's been sitting here for like two months. Anyway, Fire Emblem has consumed my entire life. I have two series planned after this -- one will be a oneshot series and the other you might not see for a.. while at least. Just got a lot of universe building to do for that AU. 
> 
> Shin Megami Tensei anyone?
> 
> Anyway, Petra/Dorothea is life. Became a big fan of them after randomly pairing them off during a Blue Lions playthrough. Haven't looked back since. First time writing any of these characters, so apologies for anything odd. Anyway uh. Here you go.

“Not quite how you wanted it, but…”

Not even remotely. Dorothea’s assuring smile was a dim light among the wash of gray that surrounded them. Petra wasn’t used to the bundle of nerves that tangled inside of her-- making her restless and rooted to the port of the deck, watching the unfamiliar choppy waves crashing against well worn wood. She hadn’t felt this sick since she was small, trembling as towering armored soldiers took her from the only home she ever knew.

Dorothea’s hands were warm though, tracing soothing circles on her callous expanse of skin. She always marveled over how perfect the singer’s own hands were, soft to touch and perfectly trimmed painted nails standing bright against her snow white pallor. Gentle as ever, she turned her palms up, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly.

“Are you worried?” Dorothea asked, voice nearly swallowed by the whipping winds.

She didn’t want to admit how nervous she felt. Petra was finally coming home after so, so long. An island that she had been absent for longer than she had been there, but yet existed so deeply in her spirit that it had constantly desired more familiar horizons. No, the way her heart thrummed inside currently wasn’t anticipation, but dread instead.

“Petra…” The plea implored her to look, and she saw her green eyes curving in sympathy, concern. By spirits, Dorothea was trying. “He’ll be okay.”

She prayed so. “I… I am having gratefulness that you are coming too.”

Dorothea giggled, idly brushing Petra’s shoulders-- fingertips warm and dizzying as it brushed against her bare skin. The playful quirk of her red lips was contagious. “I’ll just be happy if I can make a good impression~. You sure you want me to meet your grandfather?”

“He will be loving you in no time! No need for worries.” He had softened the longer the war dragged on, thankfully. She couldn’t hold it against him, having lost a son and now his captive granddaughter being forced (in his eyes) into battle over a petty property dispute. When it had all started and Petra refused to return? She swore her grandfather was going to send the army just to pull her from the flames. Imagine the others’ surprise for Petra to suddenly be accosted by a band of hunters, never to be seen again. 

It was wonderful that he hadn’t. And over time, her grandfather finally began to return her letters. At first they were filled with begging to return to the shores she desperately craved but denied, and then updates on Brigid’s need for neutrality. They couldn’t handle a military response if they did openly pledge support to the empire even as a vassal state. The empire couldn’t maintain its reigns either, so the offer of others was a temptress. 

Five years of writing. Five years of pleading and negotiating, hoping that her voice could speak stronger than Edelgard’s grandiose speeches perceived as lies. That if he could not be swayed by Edelgard’s good intentions, act on what give it would allow them to be free. Petra would fight for the emperor at her side, bleed for her and kill for her. Finally, it culminated in the letter-- offering troops and asking for help. 

The fact that her grandfather would meet Dorothea was a lovely bonus.

“If he’s anything like you…” Dorothea offered.

“Please. Actions are speaking loud here. The fact that you are here to fight will mean much to him.” The Adrestian felt even thicker in her mouth. Almost betrayed to speak being so close to her home. How different would it be? Though her memory felt alive, the snow of Fodlan was still familiar than the crashing waves and creaking wood. 

“I did bring a gift.”

Petra perked up. “A gift? What kind?”

She winked in return, squeezing her shoulders and stepping closer, “How about a surprise for you both? Or perhaps a dowry~?”

The word was unfamiliar to her, and perhaps one to be investigated later-- when they weren’t on the way to Brigid for a potential skirmish. “But--”

“Ladies.” Byleth’s greeting held both edges of amusement and exasperation with a smile that always seemed out of place-- a far cry from the year that she taught them. Her arms were crossed, observing them with an interest that warranted more than what Petra was comfortable with. “Enjoying the view?”

They separated immediately. Petra ignored the heat that flashed to her cheeks and the way it mirrored on Dorothea’s. At least it was a pleasant surprise on the singer, rare to bring out and even rarer for it to stay like it was. Brighter and clashing against the white and green. She idly brushed and smoothed the folds of her skirt as if them being tangled with one another a second ago hadn’t happened. “What can we do for you, Professor?” Dorothea quipped, voice even.

“We’re nearing Brigid shores now. Edelgard would like to see both of you at the pre-battle meeting, if you would. There are a few things I would like to go over in case we do run into church resistance.”

“Of course, Professor,” Petra responded readily, but still spared a glance back to Dorothea.

The smile and idle shrug against the backdrop of crashing waves and grey sky so quickly drew her back in-- a moment that stole Petra’s breath away. 

\--

  
  


They didn’t have a name for them yet. She wasn’t sure if that was reluctance on Petra’s part or Dorothea’s, but it was there-- and neither seemed interested in bridging that gap at the moment. A promise had been made, and though technically fulfilled this day it wasn’t quite the same for her. Perhaps Petra was using it as a way to put off the truth of the matter, but…

She loved Dorothea. It was as easy a thought as the warm Brigid rains or the beauty of sunsets cascading down on beach horizons. It gave her relief, comfort-- security and knowledge of a place where she belonged. In her worst moments, in those moments of anxiety and worry, it was a thought that so quickly calmed her down. She had never met a brighter soul, a heart that cared so much and deeply for another. Though men fell easily for Dorothea’s beauty, it was what was beneath that twisted the knot in her stomach tighter and tighter.

The invitation to Brigid had been a fumble on her part. She just remembered looking at Dorothea and feeling her heart lurch so much it ached. Yet…

It didn’t seem right to speak the truth yet. She didn’t want to admit what the hesitation had been then and now, but she couldn’t deny where her thoughts turned to as she slept-- of the very real possibility of promising the world to someone that has had so little, only to cruelly rip it away with her death. She could and would promise Dorothea anything and everything she desired, and she had hoped at least that the invitation showed her intentions in the end. 

She did say yes, after all with the singer’s eyes full of wonder and inspiration. Petra cherished that memory and would likely carry it to her grave-- regardless of when that time would actually be. With hope, it would not be for decades to come.

Her thoughts were cut short once the gray dreary sky gave way to the guts of the ship they traveled in, replacing what sun peaked through the clouds with the dancing lights of gas lanterns strewn along tight corridors. A stench of alcohol permeated the worn wood and the distant echo of drunken laughter and sailors’ snores a haunting accompaniment to their creaking steps as they traveled deeper and deeper in. The large-scale of Andrestia’s naval fleet always gave Petra some spike of nervousness when she boarded them. They hardly were a good omen when spotted on Brigid’s shores, and when last on them for this long period of time was during her… transfer. Kidnapping. 

It felt good at least to be on one with equal footing. The sailors and soldiers regarded her like the general she was in the empire’s army, and some, those with darker skin and those that had found themselves transplanted like herself, as the royalty she was. While it wasn’t something she tried to make a big deal about, over the years Petra could only become more acutely aware of the duty waiting for her when this was all done. She hoped they would accept her choice in bride.

The cargo bay was even darker than the rest of the interior of the ship, making it difficult to spot her companions in the jungle of crates and tangled ropes that surrounded them. Edelgard was the easiest to spot among the mess, her crimson armor glinting in the low oil light and a strong contrast to the mountain of brown. Her lilac eyes met hers in a brief moment as she sat, perched on a discarded crate with a parchment in her lap. The word for the emotion behind them was something that she couldn’t quite place. There was concern in there, no doubt for the situation she faced at home, but also-- exasperation? Exhaustion? It was getting harder and harder to tell what she was feeling, Petra thought. 

Ferdinand and Hubert on the other hand? It was a comical act with Edelgard in the middle, in what seemed to be a passionate argument about whatever the parchment had on.

“Those people will be tired and emaciated. We can’t expect them to go out and battle with us!”

“I’m not asking them to battle well, you idiot. We’re low on numbers. Might as well capitalize on resources already there--”

“Then why not invite mo--”

“Will you two just shut up already?!” that was Felix bellowing in the corner, lounging awkwardly on one precarious pile of boxes. Ingrid looked just as lackluster over the argument beside him though much more poised as she stood instead, using one of the support beams as a lean. 

Bernadetta was closest to them, fidgeting and looking at her hands restlessly. She understood why the professor had insisted on inviting her. Her archery skills were among the best in the army, even compared to herself and Ashe that sat next to her, trying to gently calm her down. She hoped that the travel would get her to open up just a bit more, even as she was a far more confident person than she had been five years ago. It was a work in progress, one that Ashe seemed to recognize as he kept her company in the meeting. 

The only people that seemed truly neutral over the current disagreement were Mercedes and Lysithea, though the neutrality that they provided were two very different sides of the same coin. Mercedes kept a placid smile, fingers idly tracing the staff laid across her lap as she listened-- likely knowing the truth of the matter. No decision would be made until Byleth spoke, and to think otherwise was a fruitless exercise. Lysithea on the other hand, looked far more exasperated and bored, as if she had already voiced her opinion only to be trampled down by the two headstrong men that continued to bicker. She looked far too relieved at the rest of them joining. 

At least Byleth did serve some mercy as she clapped to get everyone’s attention, quickly moving to join Edelgard at her side. “Now, now that’s quite enough! Edelgard and I have already discussed this. The meeting isn’t to argue over semantics. We don’t have time.” It was easy to remember how much of a professor she still was when she addressed them like that, and truly, she pulled the attention of everyone in the room. Silence fell quickly as she navigated the maze over, though the thank you as she finally reached the emperor wasn’t lost on Petra.

How mismatched their group seemed to be. Yet, she wouldn’t trade a single one of them.

Dorothea quietly brushed some dust off before slipping down into a seat on Bernadetta’s left and gently held onto the girl’s shoulders, squeezing in comfort. It only seemed right to provide some quiet assurance herself as she remained standing behind them. Once the archer looked up to meet her eyes, she gave an encouraging smile, one that seemed at least half-heartedly returned. 

“I hope you all can keep your voices down during the actual battle,” Edelgard noted grimly, and all eyes were on her and the Professor both. “The goal of this mission isn’t to annihilate. Please remember that. Both of you.” And the look given to Ferdinand and Hubert was cold, though Petra knew with the best intentions in mind. 

Byleth nodded, offering a softer gesture of openness. “Now onto the actual topic-- I’m sure it’s a bit hard to see in here, apologies--” she held the parchment up for the room, and Petra could just make out the details of a crudely drawn map. It was a bit familiar to her, enough so to recognize that it was the layout of her grandfather’s land. 

“Our ship will touch down here--” she pointed toward the top of the map. “The ballista will be set up in case there’s any resistance that can’t be handled. Ashe, Hubert, and Ferdinand will be set up here with Mercedes. You all will be providing back up if there’s any trouble while…”

She gestured along the paths with a lithe finger, tracing them as if they were ones she had walked herself. “Bernadetta, Lysithea, and Felix will travel along the east side, while myself, Edelgard, and Ingrid will take the west. Our objectives will be to distract by attacking the base camps here. We don’t necessarily need to destroy or overtake. We’ll buy time for Petra and Dorothea to cut through the middle, here. The trees should provide enough cover for you all to sneak through with limited resistance.”

“Ah, Professor!” Petra quickly cut in, once she recognized the camp that was drawn there. So that’s what they were arguing about. “About the camp you and Edelgard are going to be freeing…”

Byleth eased her with a smile. “I know. We’ll get your friends out. Hubert, I understand your reasoning, but unless their armor and weapons are laying around there, we’ll get them to retreat back to your position with Ashe.”

Hubert sighed in return. “Of course, Professor…”

She nodded before directing her attention back to Petra. “Once you and Dorothea have made it to your grandfather’s home, if you could signal so the rest of us can retreat accordingly? Just shoot a fire arrow if you would.”

“Yes!”

“Byleth, if I may?” Edelgard spoke up with a cough, and her frown was unusually stern. Petra was surprised by it, especially with the way the shadows on her face seemed even harsher under the lantern light. “While we’re not expecting much in way of reinforcements, we can’t ignore a concerning rumor. Catherine has been spotted in the area over the last few days. The aim is to avoid her, but…”

It could spell trouble. Petra prayed that her grandfather hadn’t received any brunt of it. She knew at least, she would’ve heard if they had killed him, but it was hard not to worry. He was the only family she had left. 

“If you spot any trouble-- be it Catherine or any other reinforcements-- signal and alert everyone immediately. Our forces will be spread apart as it is. We’ll need to support each other as much as possible.”

The pall that fell over the room spoke loud enough.

\--

At first, Petra had no idea what to do with wyverns. They were curious creatures, completely foreign to the islands of Brigid and completely foreign to her the first time she had taken the reins on Byleth’s instruction five years ago. She had thought the professor had gone mad, surely. She was terrible with horses after all, she was terrible at the idea of not having control over her own feet and movement. Terrible at not being able to control her balance the way she wanted to. 

But whatever assessments Byleth had strewn together the first few weeks she started teaching had shown her _something,_ and clearly that something said wyverns. 

She remembered sitting down with Dorothea the morning after the results were given, a pot of rose blended tea and scones between them, and felt sympathy grow as she saw similar bewilderment etched on the singer’s face. The tea had been largely forgotten, surrendering to their mutual misery it seemed. 

“Faith magic? Is the professor serious?!” Dorothea sighed dramatically. “I flunked every exam she had given on it, and that’s what she settles on? Where did she gets these exams anyway?!”

“Perhaps she is covering for the weaknesses we are having?” Petra tried to offer with a grimace, but even she questioned the thought behind it before the words came out.

“Do you know what Edelgard’s said?” she opened her arms out, clearly animated. “Axes. That’s it! She’s the princess of the empire, and she’s only concerned about her learning the one really good thing she does to kill people! Did you see her last--”

“This isn’t about the axe,” Petra had spoken plainly then. And how she remembered the way her shoulders were hiked and trembling. And it wasn’t so long from their first real taste of battle. She remembered how afterward, Dorothea cried. They were just bandits there, and yet. Petra didn’t know how often she would see those tears fall for corpses that kept piling. It just seemed like over the years, she had grown used to hiding them. Whether that would be with a song, or a night that despite all attempts otherwise, she would seclude herself in the lonely corridors of the old monastery-- green eyes burrowing into the darkness in the corners. 

She wondered when last Dorothea slept. 

The professor had been right at least. About both things. Dorothea had flourished in both forms of magic, showing her aptitude for both lightning and healing magic. By the time she had passed her gremory exam, the days of mulling over motivations and intentions from their professor had long been forgotten. She was a terrifying force of nature now and a magnet for Petra to admire when they had a quiet moment on the battlefield. She still sang and inspired others to move forward, but rarely would anyone have the chance to harm her with the way she danced through enemy lines. Though she grieved, the spells that cut through armor did not hesitate. 

As for Petra? Well. The professor didn’t even try magic with her at least. She hadn’t even noted it on her result sheets, simply scribbling them out in between different weapons of interest that Petra could take up. She had already been well familiar with the sword and bow before her arrival to Garreg Mach thanks to her father. Those skills had been encouraged, as well as now the addition of axes and lances. The wyvern just seemed there as a fun little bonus.

It worked though. She grew to enjoy the view atop a back of scales and found it similar to those that she’d find when she was resting in the tall oak trees around the monastery. Her wyvern became a stalwart companion, and after five years of fighting and bleeding with her, she couldn’t think of a better place to be.

Her wyvern was the first thing she reached for once they did make it to Brigid shores, unnervingly silent with the dreary weather carrying over from the angry ocean. The clouds were heavy enough to let loose a light drizzle, which while masking their movement just a bit more would also slow them down if it opened up to a heavier rain. 

Byleth spared one glance before her and the rest of the party took up their positions, ready to advance and provide the distraction she needed to reach her grandfather. She hoped it was in time. She hoped no one would die trying to help her. She hoped they wouldn’t have to kill so many this time. The prayer that she mumbled under her breath had been the same to the spirits as she always did, yet it seemed even heavier on sand she once recognized as home. She hoped when she next landed, it would be on much happier times.

“Would it be better if I rode with you?” Dorothea cut through the silence, running a hand along the scales in a gentle pet. Her wyvern murmured in response, leaning against the touch.

“If you are holding onto tight,” Petra cautioned, all too easily remembering the last time they had come up with the idea. The one time they had been placed on sky watch duty together had ended with Dorothea hauled up in the infirmary for a week and Byleth swearing her off from it for good. She had taken it in stride then, but she admitted the practicality of it now. Dorothea would be slower on foot, and could easily be lost in the thick tangle of trees in her home. They weren’t as neat as Fodlan’s oaks and evergreens. They grew wild, unexpected, and perhaps more of a risk than keeping Dorothea balanced on the wyvern’s back. 

“Hey, I’ve gotten some practice in!” she offered in assurance, though the crooked smile on her face promised anything but. “Though sitting nice and close is a rather tempting offer~.”

She nearly dropped the saddle, earning a chuckle from her friend. She seemed even worse than usual today, in all the worst and best ways possible. Petra did her best to ignore how quickly her heart beat and fumbled through setting up the wyvern. The flier seemed happy to remain as patient as ever, nodding its assent as Petra asked to hop on as she always did. It only seemed right knowing how smart the creatures were. It was better to know how something she trusted her life with was feeling before going into battle after all.

And she did find some comfort in how Dorothea managed to scramble up on the wyvern’s back without much struggle once Petra offered a hand for her. She felt the smile against her back as her arms circled around her middle, bare skin touching cold hands. She tried to ignore the way her flush seemed to be climbing up to her ears and how quickly the both seemed to be warming up with the proximity. 

“Ready?” her breath tickled her ear, and Petra tried everything in her power not to shudder. Ducking her head, she clicked her tongue and the wyvern took off, beating its mighty wings and soaring upwards with ease. She felt Dorothea rock back momentarily, but her arms remain locked tight around her, the breathless laughter music to Petra’s ears. 

Five years, and it was easy to spot the movements of her friends through the thick brushes. A sea of red and blue slowly advancing, careful of their steps and metal glinting under the dreary sun. She could see Edelgard and Felix taking their places as point, leading their units forward along well worn paths toward the low light of campfire and murmurs of church soldiers settled at choke points on the road. She eased her wyvern lower, grazing the top branches of the wild trees that would serve to cloak them for now. 

What few soldiers there had been dispatched easily. A few quick arrows in the right places. Dorothea covered the rear with the most subtle spell she had available. She marveled with the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood for just a moment-- just before the crackle of the thunder spell met its mark. Dorothea had explained once about how those attuned to magic could feel it coming. More than just static when it got close, but like a tingling sensation that shot through her fingertips and a pop in her ear drums.

_“It sounds like distracting, isn’t it?”_

It can be. It was a concept that would remain too blissfully beyond her. Though she was naturally attuned to the spirits, to visions and dreams-- it wasn’t the same thing as spells and magic. Byleth hadn’t seemed particularly beat up about it, though she wondered if that attunement was why so many of their class had at least learned the basics of reason and faith magic. She would hate to think so many of her classmates just were more naturally talented to the subject when it fascinated Petra so much. 

Dorothea at least seemed comfortable now. Her grip around her middle had loosened considerably, and she sat up now, viewing their surroundings passively as they waited for the signal to proceed deeper into the brush. She could almost dare to call her natural and poised as she surveyed their surroundings. Though battle always weighed heavily on the singer, her shoulders at least seemed lax now and green eyes were gentle as she took in the trees and grass that had been so often described to her over tea. Auburn hair looked even more wild than usual from flapping wings, stray strands whipped against flushed skin. She could only imagine what Petra would see once it became more natural to be there. 

She must’ve been staring a bit too long. Dorothea met her eyes and the light smile that graced her chapped lips could’ve stopped her heart from beating right there. “It’s not like you to be distracted~,” she teased gently.

“Just… losing myself to-- lost in thought is all,” Petra corrected herself, cursing inwardly with how stilted she sounded. She was right that this was the worst time to be distracted. While they were avoiding conflict as much as possible, this still was a battlefield, and it wouldn’t end well if soldiers found them in such a state. 

“Do you know what you’re going to say to him?”

It was a far less embarrassing admission than what had truly been on her mind. “I am thinking to just speak from the heart. My grandfather prefers truth without thought. It wouldn’t be a-- very full of heart to use prepared speeches.”

“It’s not always so easy is it?” Dorothea offered, and she seemed even more relaxed in the thick of conversation. She tucked one of the wild strands behind her ear, smoothing out the tangles with careful strokes. It was a cute habit Petra picked up on. Especially when the woman was nervous. “An impulsive liar talks faster than an honest straight shooter, usually.”

“Straight shooter? Like an archer?”

Dorothea hummed. “Ah, sort of…?” she smiled a bit before tapping Petra’s cheek. “Someone like yourself. Honest.”

“Ah! To a-a fault, right?”

“Not always. Like you…” her voice died, and Dorothea whipped her head to beyond her, into the halo of trees behind them. The smile wilted, slipping down to something more pensive. The humor was gone, forgotten with whatever thought that she was trying to finish. 

Petra tried to follow her gaze, but only found darkness past the first line of trees. What she did notice was the eerie silence that fell over them. No birds, no patter and breaking twigs of animals. She could no longer hear the sounds of their companions fighting in the encampments. Even the wind seemed to have died down. And she felt her muscles tighten, ready. 

“Dorothea, what is--”

The hairs on her neck stood on end again, but before she could even register that, Dorothea had yanked on the reins of her wyvern hard, throwing them back in the air. Caught off guard by the sudden command, her wyvern yelped and snapped her head back, rocking them backward with a thick flap of her wings. Still Dorothea kept yanking, further and further away from the spot they just were.

What happened next had been a strange collision of blurs. Suddenly, her ears popped and deafened as a thick column of light blinded her-- crashing into the spot that they had been just a second ago. The wyvern had been caught just as off-guard, roaring in both confusion over the sudden attack and Dorothea’s erratic directions on the reins. They were upside down one second before crashing into the earth, and Petra had only just a moment to register the dirt before they crashed into in a rough tumble. 

At some point, she’d been thrown off. She registered the hard hit to her back, thick bark scraping against the side of her temple. Her axe had been thrown off into the halo of trees, lodged into a high branch far out of reach. Her ears rang painfully, and she struggled to find another purchase to even sit up. 

The first thing she saw was her wyvern standing over her, sharp fangs bared in clear displeasure. She offered only a grimace in sympathy as she smacked an ear, trying to get the feeling back. A few scrapes and a lost axe, but nothing worth losing sleep over. A quick once over of the wyvern showed her in a similar state, much to her relief. That just left Dorothea, and whatever magic that had been.

No sight of their attackers yet, which was concerning, especially as sulfur filled her nostrils. Traveling through the woods had been advantageous, but it was just as much for their enemies it seemed. Long-distance magic. They could respond with meteor from Dorothea herself, but they would need to know where it came from first. And that wasn’t even regarding numbers.

The scorch mark the magic left behind, covering most of the clearing they landed in was disconcerting. Dorothea knelt in the black grass, eyes wide as she looked at the charred blades. She could tell she was thinking, and whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

“Dorothea!” she called out, trying to grab her attention, to pull her out of whatever thoughts that had been on her mind. They had time to think it through. Her feet carried her toward her faster than her thoughts could, but just as suddenly, her friend held a hand out to stop her.

And she realized there was fear in her eyes. “Run! They’re not--” She stretched her hand out in a quick arc, shooting out a quick fire ball into the air. All the while her lips moved, lyrical words not Adrestian, but familiar to her. While the pronunciation and words were clearly stilted, unpracticed compared to the arias and songs Petra had been mesmerized by before, they were unmistakably Brigid in nature. 

  
  


_\-- Oh my sun…_

_Why must you depart so soon?_

And like a ruthless beast, the bolting struck down, swallowing the fireball as it completed its arc and soon after, consuming Dorothea completely in its light. Petra threw her arms up as the spell blinded her-- ears ringing once again as a clap of thunder echoed through the forest. 

\--

She knew exactly what Dorothea was doing. 

After using Meteor the first time in battle, Petra had gushed over how easily it crushed a small squadron of knights in one fell swoop, and how awe-striking it truly was to her. Like something commanded by the very spirits as it fell from the sky. 

“Yeah, but it’s tiring~” Dorothea had drawled after exhausting from the compliments that had flowed from Petra’s lips. “I’m only ever going to use it when they’re grouped up like that or well…”

“Well?” she asked.

“It’d be easy to fish someone out of a hiding spot like that. But most people can only really use magic like that a couple of times before they’re just… done, you know? We don’t really have the constitution like big, strong warriors like yourself.”

She really, really wished she studied a bit more about magic before this. Enough to recognize when that magic would be used against her. Enough to catch Dorothea before those strange thoughts came into her head, like the shadows that haunted her in the monastery at night. 

\--

After a second lightning strike, there wasn’t enough grass to char. It was just a sea of black in front of her, encircled by the fire that began to rage out of her peripheral vision. Like a deer, she had been surrounded and trapped by a particularly efficient hunter. And all Petra could see despite it all was the prone form at the epicenter of it all. Even from the distance, she could see the burns that blackened what was once snow white skin and how her chest no longer rose and fell. 

“Dor…” Petra’s thoughts had stopped. Her heart stilled, sank below the abyss of her stomach-- throat tightened as she tried to will the older woman to breathe. She couldn’t remember when her feet had carried her to her side, or when she turned her over to study more closely. The burns were extensive, though difficult to tell from the tumble they had taken just a moment before the spell hit. Her lips were parted, green eyes shut. What was open to her was a snarled sea of black and red. No air flowed out, but as she pressed her ear to the songstress’ chest, she could still make out the faint traces of a heart beat. 

Still could be saved. The regrets of not seeing the signs sooner, of not speaking her mind more clearly could still be salvaged. The longer they stayed though, the smaller those chances would get. If they were running into this much resistance though… no doubt the others were as well. 

Would it be better to move forward, or back? Since Ashe had the most amount of coverage, Mercedes would likely be free enough to at least stabilize Dorothea, but she risked the chance of more injuries and… and possible casualties from those that were meant to buy her time. However, at this point, she couldn’t be certain of what resistance she would face moving forward. If she took too much time… Dorothea would surely…

And that hadn’t meant their attackers were even gone yet. Her ears picked up heavy footsteps, coming closer to the prone pair. She knew at least one thing. She needed her wyvern. She needed to move quickly, or regardless of her choices, they both would bleed out in these woods. She still had her bow. And this was still the forest that she learned to hunt in. Church soldiers weren’t so different a target. 

She gathered Dorothea in her arms, careful not to aggravate her injuries further. She didn’t respond to the movements and was deadweight against her. Unconscious then. At least she wouldn’t be in pain, but…

Hoisting her on her back felt strange. It wasn’t so different from the one other time she had, back when they were still school children and it meant nothing more than an innocent question over her strength. It should alarm her that after five years and being absolute deadweight against her back, Dorothea hadn’t felt so different, or that she could remember how it felt the last time she had carried her like this. It was thoughts for another day, when she would have a chance to worry about something so small.

For now, she kept hands firmly secured on the girl’s legs and kept her balance enough that Dorothea would put everything on her back. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, as she’s sure it aggravated every burn on her companion, but it would keep her movement flexible. However the question still remained. 

Petra spotted white armor wading through the brush fire forming and realized the decision had been made for her. Knights of Seiros. Her lips curled at the sight of blades and lances waiting for her. She couldn’t fight carrying Dorothea, and she wouldn’t dare leave the girl behind for capture. She quickly turned on her heel, back to where her wyvern was waiting for her. It would be easier to clear away from the soldiers with the sky. She’d run the risk of archers, but at least she could get a better understanding of the battlefield from above. 

The soldiers were shouting, footsteps moving faster as Petra began to retreat. But her wyvern was waiting, reptilian eyes glinting and mouth outstretched in a ferocious growl to her enemies. Even started bounding toward her, as if recognizing the direness of the situation and trying to meet her halfway. It would be easy, she could keep them both on the wyvern with one hand on the reins. Not exactly a fighting position, but--

She stopped in her tracks. Archers were waiting in the brush already, arrows trained and bows drawn, a small unit station right where the wyvern had been. She wasn’t about to use the wyvern as a shield, and all too quickly, she clicked her tongue. The wyvern stopped as well, head craned in confusion over the order, as if unsure of what was being asked. Then, reluctantly, it rose, soaring into the air alone-- and hopefully a fine enough warning if the bolting hadn’t alerted her friends already.

As she set Dorothea down, drawing her own bow and arrow out, ready to buy as much time as she could for her friends to arrive, was the trampling of horse hooves. She wouldn’t get the chance to as she heard the loud cry of, “I’m coming!” before the hooves smashed into the skulls of unsuspecting enemies, crushing them flat against the earth. A flurry of axe strikes followed, streaking that armor into a deeper shade of scarlet. It cut through flesh and leather like paper, and before long the only one left standing had been Ferdinand von Aegir, face uncharacteristically grim.

A rain of arrows stroke down next, pinning down the battalion behind her before being swallowed by a well of darkness-- decimating the units in one fell swoop. The carnage would’ve been horrific for Dorothea to see, but for Petra in that moment? It may as well been a blessing from the spirits themselves. 

Ferdinand rode to her side, holding his breath all too quickly at the sight of them. Petra was relieved to see that while he looked more haggard than usual, he seemed at least uninjured. “We came as fast as we could.”

“I am knowing, but Ferdinand--”

“I see her.” He spared a brief glance before trotting over, carefully lifting Dorothea over the back of the horse. The grim determination had morphed to one of sorrow and regret. “Mercedes will get her back to her feet, Petra, but…”

She knew what he was going to say. To admit it burned her heart, razed it completely. Enough to keep her rooted at the thought of leaving her behind. She had been trying to protect her, had been trying to buy her time to run. All her thoughts turned to was returning that devotion, and doing everything she could to ensure she survived. 

Ferdinand watched her. Waited for the okay, but even still, she could see his attention slowly being drawn back to where he needed to be. Where Dorothea needed to be. Petra swallowed through the thick bile in her throat. “You are promising me.” 

He reached for a lance kept latched to the side of his saddle, and made sure it was secured in her hands before making his turn to leave. “Trust us.”

She had nothing else to go on. Her grip on the lance was white-knuckled, near trembling under the pressure. She didn’t wait for him to cross the boundary in the woods, instead turning back to her goal-- back to her grandfather’s side. The sooner she could cross that line, the better. The sooner she could see that her grandfather was safe. The sooner she could see the same of Dorothea. She had nothing else to believe in, but the security and honesty of her family. 

It would be the passion that carried her forward.

\--

She would have to apologize to her grandfather for the mess she left behind. The trip out of those tangled branches and roots had been an adrenaline-rushed blur of careful lance strikes and the sickening quelch of metal sinking into flesh. Absently, Petra realized that the only smell that filled her nostrils at this point was sulfur and her fingers numbed in ways that reminded her of the buzz Dorothea described when she used magic. All that mattered was that her grip on the lance was iron tight and the soldiers fell before she did. 

Mercedes would heal her. Her friends would be meeting her at the gate of her grandfather’s hut, and everything would be fine. She could still hear them fighting, distantly-- far from where her haphazard steps carried her, on half remembered trails that had gnarled and changed in the ten years past she’d lived there. So long as those church blades hadn’t crossed her grandfather, the rest Petra had to believe, could be fixed.

With the amount of reinforcements, she had to assume the worst case scenario. Catherine had arrived, and taken them by surprise. Perhaps had been waiting in the woods for them as Dorothea and her traversed it. She wanted to be angry, feel that burn inside her to keep her moving. 

Then again, she’d remember the kindness given to her as a student. Training with Catherine, crossing blade against blade, and being offered advice on how to grow. Despite everything, many of those professors and knights had meant the best for them, Petra had known. And she would remember too, the glossy gaze as Dorothea looked onto the empty corridors of the monastery. The way she struggled to keep her voice steady as she sang when she thought no one was watching.

It couldn’t, wouldn’t change how she struck at them now, as Petra knew that in war everyone’s thoughts were much the same, but the hurt inside her wasn’t anger. Perhaps it had been better that her dear friend missed the carnage this had turned into, and perhaps, she would allow herself to know the heavy feeling of grief when the destination wasn’t such a focus in her mind.

The fighting grew louder still as she neared the edge of the forest. She noticed the flash of red and golden first, dancing and weaving around another’s blade as easily as Petra had ever seen Edelgard do it. It didn’t surprise Petra to see that she had managed to get ahead, having been a personal witness to the powerful force her and Byleth often were in battle together. Sure enough, her professor was right beside her, striking the enemy with a large vertical sweep. The creator sword looked absolutely odd in her hands, foreign and grotesque-- almost breathing as it moved. 

The enemy still held their own, and it didn’t surprise her once she saw who it was. Like a bad omen that arose once someone spoke it, Catherine fought magnificently against them-- clearly having not missed a step in the last five years she’d seen her. The same woman that had taught them all at least once was keeping them both back in quick blocks and thrusts. The thunderbrand shone brightly in the dreariness, reflecting the fiery intent in her eyes. That anger and betrayal hadn’t changed over the years either, it seemed. 

Did she know what happened? It was easy to lose track of soldiers in battles like this, even for generals and commanders. It was the only reason she could think of that Byleth always kept them so self-contained. While they usually had their own soldiers to lead, she always kept her students in mind. Back then, that warmth hadn’t been so different from the other professors. Sure. Something else had drawn so many of the students to their class, but no one could put a name to it. 

No. Perhaps not names specifically, but the torching had been a deliberate attempt to flush them out. Anyone familiar with the professor would know that while she kept their parties small, she would never ordinarily spread them so thin. Petra had to remember the goal. Survival-- everyone was just looking to survive. It should be easy then to just let her professor and emperor finish what they had handled. Keep moving forward, get to the gates, end the fight as quickly as possible. 

Yet--

She tightened her grip on the lance and charged forward, ready to use the distraction Byleth and Edelgard were providing to finish things in one rush. Three paces in and she caught Byleth’s eye, the wild bewildered look almost amusing any other time. Two paces to her, and Catherine had spotted her. She was clearly startled, but a quick dig of her back heel and she had turned to face her, thunderbrand out and ready to strike down on her bare flesh.

Petra didn’t give herself enough time to think before sidestepping the swipe and delivering a swift hook into Catherine’s jaw. She felt the clash of bone against her knuckles, not enough to crack but enough to send Catherine careening to her side-- knocked off balance by the blow. Her knuckles stung. She hadn’t really punched anyone in a while, she realized. Not since her and Caspar had sparred some moons ago. That same hand still yanked forward, wrenching the older woman’s wrist upward and feeling it snap against her tight movements. 

The cry of pain rang in her ears as Catherine fell, hitting soft earth compared to the rough tumble _her_ army caused not so long ago. Losing a general would be a severe blow for the Church of Seiros, and a stern warning for trying to get to her grandfather, her home again. It would give Shamir closure from ever having to face the woman on the battlefield. Revenge for what could be Dorothea’s very own…

But she looked so small there, sprawled out on her back with herself, Byleth, and Edelgard circling her. Her thunderbrand laid a few inches from her broken and swelling wrist, a few inches too far from protecting her from whatever decision they would make. Now that things had stopped, Petra could see the small lashes and wounds that had been collected from her brawl with the other two. She panted harshly and seemed to struggle with the slightest movement, exhausted and reluctant. 

She gave the lance to Byleth. Her eyes still held that large, owlish stare as she looked her over. Petra wasn’t sure what seemed so out of place by her appearance. “You… you are having your own thoughts in mind, yes?” she asked, aware right away how breathless she sounded herself. “Could you perhaps--”

“Are you alright?”

She blinked, unsure of how to respond to the question. “No. Dorothea and I had… Could we be taking her back with us?”

Edelgard’s jaw clenched, standing and studying Catherine at the other side. She saw something else there, a vulnerability that had been gone after so long constantly fighting and fighting. She saw the girl she grew to respect in their academy days. The same one that had slowly warmed up to each of them in her devoted way. She nodded before delicately picking up the Thunderbrand, its dim light still glowing under her careful inspection. “Bring good news back.”

“I am promising,” Petra replied easily, automatically. “Thank you. All of you.”

\--

Her grandfather was okay. She cried as he did when they embraced, even as it stung against her marred and dirty cheeks. Petra took in every kiss, every thankful blessing as they held each other in long-awaited reunion, and even after, as she decompressed and cleaned and saw the burns that had been imprinted in her skin. 

Her party had been granted stay in the villa as her grandfather and Edelgard ironed out the final details of their alliance-- this time not as a vassal but as equal partners in the war against the Church of Seiros. Her return had become a buzz of movement, of being pulled in different directions to see old friends and relatives, and even still strangers that wished to see that the Brigid princess was indeed well after so many years. She had returned each marvel and well-intentioned expression of rejoicing with as much as she could muster after a long fight and the worry that weighed her down.

It didn’t really hit her how badly she fretted until she was finally spared a moment of reprieve to clean and bathe, where she finally spotted the burns on her arms. It must have been splash damage from when she shielded her eyes from the second spell. The fern patterns, fanning and flowering out into their own branches, were fascinating on her skin and stretched up to her elbows. No wonder Byleth had looked at her so strangely after the fight, between the burns and the blood and mud that had caked into her clothing and skin. She likely looked mad charging out of the bushes like she did. 

To think she’d been burned still having been on the other side of the clearing, then how did Dorothea…

Petra bolted out of the bath, heart thumping against her chest in her scramble. What was she doing?! She hadn’t seen her friends come in exactly. Did she…? She dug for what clean clothes she had to wear and practically stumbled out into the villa corridors, right into her grandfather-- patiently waiting for her to finish with her bath.

He caught her arms before she stumbled, and puffed a breath of laughter at the flush that Petra was sure on her cheeks. “ _Little star, what has you scurrying?_ ” the brigid was light music in her ears, a welcome warmth that still burrowed its way inside her, even after the minutes and minutes she had spent listening and speaking to it among friends and family already. 

It still didn’t matter right now, and her mother tongue felt just as thick in her mouth as Adrestian would be. “ _My friends, did they bring any injured among them?_ ”

He clicked his tongue and straightened his back, eyeing her with a stricter demeanor. One more for admonishing than as warm as before. This close, she could see the resemblance and feel welcomed by it. The sharpness in his eyes and edges, the braids and beads that decorated his hair. Similar half-moon tattoo under his eye. She was willing to take comfort in that, even under his critical gaze. “ _It is about that Adrestian girl, isn’t it? I wondered where she’d been. You promised to bring her._ ”

“ _I did, I swear, she just--_ ”

And finally, he smiled. “ _Shall we go meet her then?_ ”

“ _... She’s okay?_ ” The relief that washed over her was both comforting and exhausting. It would’ve haunted her to the end of her days if Dorothea had passed on her own soil, defending her. When the promise had been cherished so deeply inside Petra, an uncertain future that they both held for beyond the war. But she was okay. She was okay.

“ _The emperor had reported no casualties,_ ” he confirmed for her. “ _I want to see for myself how worthy she is of your time._ ”

“ _Grandpa!_ ”

He chuckled and took her shoulders, guiding her through colorful hallways filled with drapery and cloths. Everyone in the villa moved and buzzed with excitement. Likely her party was the first sort of visitors they had for years that had actually been welcomed, unlike the various church dignitaries that had been a thorn to her grandfather’s side. Petra had been grateful that Edelgard trusted her to convince Brigid, as she couldn’t imagine the reaction or the amount of skirmishes on home soil if empire forces had started arriving at regular intervals as well.

Still, she wished she could’ve seen the light in her grandfather’s eyes sooner, of relief and love. She missed him so. 

The apartments laid on the west side of the villa, something she remembered getting lost in easily as a child. Even now, she wasn’t sure she could find her way naturally through the twists and turns it took her as she followed her grandfather. However, she did recognize the room they stopped at-- mainly because Mercedes had just exited it. Her smile had a tired edge to it, even as she pulled the tapestry back to welcome them inside. 

Petra found her throat dry. “How is she recovering?”

Mercedes nodded. “She’ll be bed bound for a while, but well. It’s good she got to keep her hair!”

… Was that ever in danger? Petra assumed at least that Dorothea had to be recovering well enough for Mercedes to joke about it. However, the older woman had some odd moods on occasion. She was never quite sure how to respond. “I am thanking you,” she replied simply, absent of any other way to answer the joke before stepping into the room first. 

Her breath caught at the sight of her. Even awake, sat up and threading through tangled wild auburn hair-- leaves stuck in various places, half charred, she seemed so much smaller than usual. Her dress had been torn by their earlier tumble, face scuffed and bruised. The bandages that were wrapped around her arms, neck, and chest were haphazard at best. Proof that it was done in the rush of the battle. They would inevitably be changed sooner rather than later. Through what the bandages didn’t cover, she saw black and even more of the flowering ferns etched into the singer’s skin. 

Her green eyes softened as she noticed Petra come in, glossy and weary but no less warm than before. The relief inside seemed to sag her as she pulled her fingers out of her matted hair. “You’re okay,” Dorothea breathed, and Petra felt the tears well up in her eyes.

The reunion would’ve been sweeter if her grandfather hadn’t followed her. Dorothea practically squeaked in surprise, hunching over as if to hide her state from the king of Brigid. Always so worried over appearances, though… Petra couldn’t be surprised with how nervous she was before. She knew how much the singer tried to control in terms of meetings and appearances. Now her grandfather, someone Dorothea had been nervous about already, stood before her in a rather vulnerable moment. Petra tried to relieve her of that stress, standing at her bedside to gently hold her shoulder and squeezing gently as her grandfather watched over them both. 

“S-sir, I…” Dorothea stammered, uncharacteristic. She wondered if it was similar to when she first stood on the opera stage and peered at so many curious watchers. “I um--”

“I apologize,” her grandfather spoke softly, not unlike he had the day she left Brigid. As if giving the gravity of the situation the credit it needed. “The Adrestian is still a bit strange in my mouth. You are the singer, yes?”

Her fingers stopped combing, cheeks flushing as she nodded. “It… Apologies. This dress was a lot more appropriate earlier in the day.”

The joke caught him off guard as he roared in laughter, straightening his posture from regarding Dorothea so closely. “I am imagining not! Brigid is usually more peaceful than that,” and Petra noted with relief how fondly he seemed to regard her. “Hopefully, you will be getting a better idea during the rest of your stay. … Confined to this room of course.”

“Your granddaughter has mentioned much of it,” and her breath hitched with the way Dorothea’s gaze fell on her, so warm and relieved at the sight of her. Those eyes traced every scratch and burn still on her skin-- marred but no less spared compared to the patterns under her own. “I’m so glad she-- and everyone! -- is okay.”

She loved Dorothea. More than anything. The land. Sky. Oceans and the sands beneath her feet. “ _I’m going to marry her._ ” She blurted to her grandfather, only quietly in that it was spoken in her mother tongue, and tried not to worry so much over how his brows drew upward, clearly taken aback by the declaration. 

Dorothea blinked, as if trying to process the statement herself. The reaction was thankfully subdued, so it was unlikely that whatever Brigid the singer had learned, it wasn’t enough to be fluid in the language. A proper admission should come first after all, one that didn’t include her grandfather between them, waiting apprehensively for his approval. That was the only she could reliably hold onto at the moment, as she held onto whatever words he spoke. It was easy to admit then, in that little bit of space between them, that her anxiety had never really been about his safety in the first place. It was there, naturally-- small and pressing-- but more than anything, it was this moment here. Now. 

“Empress Edelgard had been sharing with me what had happened,” her grandfather began after a moment, tugging at his graying beard absently. “... I suppose I should be thanking you over--”

Dorothea shook her head. “It’s quite alright. Petra is so precious to everyone here. … I certainly wasn’t going to come to your home and tell you that your granddaughter was gone.” She swallowed a bit thickly, wincing just a bit as she tugged at a particularly thick tangle. “I just did what she would have done for anyone else.”

All too quickly, Petra felt the heat flash to her cheeks. “That is not being fair. Dorothea, you--”

She smiled and winked at her, killing her voice in one easy gesture. “I did bring a gift, though this wasn’t quite how I expected to share it.”

“Oh?” her grandfather spoke, curious at the idea. “Since it did not burn in the fire, then I can only presume…?”

“A comfort my lungs didn’t burn with everything else!” Petra bit her tongue to avoid reminding Dorothea of the fact that she had stopped breathing, and a burned lung was a very real possibility among other, very serious things. However, Dorothea’s cheeks flushed a light pink as her fingers ghosted bandages and picked at torn seams. “I am. … I’m sorry if I don’t do the song justice. I wanted it to be a surprise for Petra too, but I--”

Her grandfather waved off the concern, the warmth clear in her eyes as he leaned forward. He was more than ready to listen. He waved his hand forward, beckoning her to begin.

Dorothea only paused once to spare another glance to Petra, as if seeking permission. They locked eyes, green holding onto hers tightly with such vulnerability underneath them. There were nerves there still, yet something far better, far more comforting simmering underneath. She watched the red lips curve upward in a light smile as she began to sing, the vibrato and beauty hiding the very real nerves that had to have been there buried underneath. 

All the same, Petra watched and listened, awashed with nostalgia and admiration all at once as the old brigid tune echoed between them.

\--

Her grandfather took some convincing to leave after. It was only after assuring him that Petra was now old enough to work out the confusing corridors back to her own room and that yes, Dorothea still needed her rest -- especially after that performance that he did finally duck his head and assent, losing himself further into the apartments. She hoped at least that he would check on their other guests, now that Petra would be occupied. 

Dorothea looked so much more relieved as she closed the tapestry, leaning her head back against plush pillows and heaving a large sigh. “Give a girl some warning next time?” she playfully scoffed, wincing at the stress from stretching her own limbs. “I could barely remember a word with him staring at me like that!”

Petra slumped against the wall and immediately felt how exhausted she felt now that he body didn’t have to hold all of her weight. Yet-- “When were you learning the lyrics? Can you be speaking more? How long?” the questions slipped out without thought, and she took some secret pleasure in the way Dorothea looked so flustered by it.

“It took a lot of sneaking around to get you not to notice,” she sighed, picking at her bandages. “And don’t get me started on finding that song sheet in the first place. With the way merchants looked at me, you’d think I was asking for the fountain of youth or something. Then there was more digging around to find a pronunciation guide, then I had to convince Linhardt of all people to just--” and she snorted louder at the pout tugging down her lips, “-- You’re finding this very funny, aren’t you?”

And despite her laughter, despite everything, Petra just felt how light it all seemed to be. It just bubbled from her throat as she held her hand tight, cradled between her own like they had from the start. She ignored the way the tears pricked at her eyes, the way her hands held as tightly as they did the lance that carried her here. She ignored how freely they flowed as she looked more and more at the fern like patterns that burned into her skin, the way she knew the image of her in a charred crater would haunt her for years and months from now. How no doubt her grandfather would be pacing in his chambers, churning over how to announce that his granddaughter had fallen in love with an Adrestian commoner.

How her friends and family would be eagerly awaiting for more news, and that Edelgard would deliver. How her and the professor would promise a better future for everyone with equality and hope. That maybe when Catherine would be coming back to the monastery, she would remember too the memories and lessons Petra had held onto so dearly, and perhaps would remember that no one rebelled out of madness. All their warriors would be waiting for them, and there would be another day that her and Dorothea could discuss dreams, hopes, and fears. That one of these days she could return the favor and see that there wouldn’t be another burn, scratch, or scar left on her skin.

The, “I love you,” fell from her freely, and Petra so welcomed the same warmth that mirrored on Dorothea’s face. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
